Character Conversations: Birth of A Soldier (Merikh and Diomedes) (Patreon)

The mornings on the Isle of Kylosia were filled with familiar routines. Nets being mended, boats being pushed out, and the calls of gulls and fishermen mingling together in a familiar song.

Merikh was already waist-deep in the salty water, holding one net while his friend Bashar held another.

"Care to wager? I think I could bring in half the sea today!" He asked, preparing to cast his net out.

"Merikh, I just got back from Matrica. The city took all of my coin! What would I have to wager?"

Merikh laughs at his friend's sour look and throws his net out. As it hits the surface with a soft splash, he takes a moment to enjoy the feel of the cool waves lapping against him and the sun on his face.

"Looks like your mother is calling you."

Merikh turns toward the shore and sees his mother waving him over, the wind catching her dark curly hair.

"Watch my net," he said, already starting to wade back to the shore.

She's waiting for him when he gets there, nose wrinkled and her hands on her hips.

Her hands start moving sharply.

"You left without eating," she signs, an accusatory look in her eyes.

He laughs sheepishly.

"I wanted to work early," he signs back.

She raises her eyebrows at that and scoffs.

"If that were true, then you would have been up before the sun, like Rais and your older brothers," she signs.

At the mention of his stepfather, he reflexively looks over his shoulder, expecting to see the man standing behind him with a net full of fish and a knife to clean them with.

"You know they don't wait for me," he signs, but his mother shakes her head, already ushering him back to the house.

He can hear the commotion inside before the door is even opened. They both knew that his leaving the house without eating, was less about an eagerness to fish and more about trying to avoid helping with breakfast.

As soon as he steps through the door, a small, sticky hand grabs his.

"Hasna ate my jam," Reza, his younger brother, signs clumsily.

With his dark eyes wet with tears and his cheeks smeared with purple jam, the five-year-old points a sticky finger at Hasna.

"He's a fat liar!" Hasna shouts from her seat at the breakfast table, familiar purple jam on her cheeks as well.

His mother looks at them both before looking at the only child at the table not making accusations.

"Did someone's jam get stolen?", she signs to Merikh's other brother Yunus.

The thirteen-year-old looks up from his plate with a sigh.

"I gave them each a piece of toast and they saw the other eat. Now they think the other one was eating theirs," he signed dispassionately before turning his attention back to his plate.

His aunt comes in the room, her dark long curls of hair, so similar to his mother's and siblings, tied and twisted out of the way, and in her arms is a basket of flatbreads stuffed with cheese.

Her tone is clipped and no-nonsense as usual as she places the basket on the table and picks up Reza without missing a step.

"Oh good Merikh, if you're back from pretending to fish, you can bring in the fish from the oven and feed the goats while you're at it!" she says, barely looking at him, instead focusing on trying to wipe the stubborn jam from Reza's face.

"I thought I was here to eat too," he signs but still heads out to the back to bring in the fish from the outdoor stone oven.

"Fish again. How creative," he mutters to himself as he gets the fish, but his mouth still waters at the smell and sight of their crisp, spice-coated skin.

His aunt takes them from him and to the table at a speed that makes him wonder if she has wings attached to her feet.

"Goats," she says flatly.

"Okay, okay..." raising his hands in defeat.

Being the oldest wasn't very fun.

Well, he wasn't the oldest.

His mother's husband Rais has three sons older than him, but they always managed to get up earlier than him and go with the other fisherman, and he was starting to think that they let him sleep in just so they wouldn't have to involve themselves with sticky hands and goat poop.

By the time he finished, the time for breakfast had long passed and the

"You won't be seeing me tomorrow morning, that I can promise," he said to one of the goats as sat leaning against the fence, vowing to himself that tomorrow he'd get up early enough.

"Spiro, he's talking to the goats again,"

Merikh looks up at the sound of his stepbrother, Alkaios.

Both of his stepbrothers were leaning against the fence snickering at him.

"We would help you brother, but some of us have to go out and catch those fish. Put food on the table," Spiro, joked as he hopped over the fish.

"And someone has to take care of the goats," Merikh retorted.

"Yeah, work for babies—"

"Alright, we don't need to be fighting. I'm going to see Zenais tonight and I don't want to smell like goat and stupid. We're going sailing, you coming?"

Merikh grins and stands up, "Why didn't you just say that,"

***

The water is lively as the villagers gather at the shore and several begin to push their boats into the water.

"Oh, so that's why you invited me," Merikh smirks as he looks at the types of boats being pushed into the water.

These boats weren't made for fishing, instead, these are made for speed, with large sails and light bodies.

"Don't get too excited, we just need an even number," Spiro says, but a small smile is tugging at his lips.

Merikh has made his own boat with Rais but never participated in the group races. He'd never admit it, but he envied some of the other boys in the village, like his friend Bashar, whose brothers let him participate, even if he just got to help with rowing.

Spiro had started racing at fifteen and Alkaios started even earlier at thirteen. Merikh was now sixteen and was starting to wonder if they just didn't want him to race with them.

Alkaios ruffled his hair and draped an arm around him.

"Let's show the village which brothers run the seas!"

They board their boat, tie their knots, and hoist their sail, taking an early lead, catching the wind just right.

With the wind filling their sail, cheers pouring into their ears like echoes from the shore, and the setting sun ahead of them, it felt like nothing was in his way.

And then a fleet came into view. Like a floating army and a mass of towering masts and flags.

"Merikh help me adjust the sail, we need to get back to shore!" Alkaios says, his voice ringing out over the waves and wind, but not over the cold stone of dread sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"Are those warships?" he asks and Spiro grimaces, and starts to row faster.

They reach the shore to cheers but the looks on their faces quiet the crowd.

"Warships," Alkaios says as soon as his feet hit the sand.

Their father steps forward.

"Did you see a crest?" he signs but all three shake their head.

"The flags are blue," Merikh says right as the sound of a horn tears its way across the waves.

The boats are moving faster than any he's seen, too fast for the modest breeze.

"That is our lord's army," Rais signs, but the tension in his shoulders and jaw remains.

One by one, the boats land, and the shore that once was so alive was silent. Like the sea before a storm.

"Did we interrupt a party?" A hooded figure calls out as he jumps down from the ship, his hood catching the wind and flying back to reveal a young man with golden hair, like Merikh's but brighter.

Merikh can't see the young man clearly, only the back of his head, but he didn't seem like he could be older than Merikh himself, and while the stranger spoke with an authority far beyond his years, his voice was brimming with amusement and mischief.

"I am Diomedes, son of Menandros. I believe you've heard of him as he is your lord. This is the part where you kneel."

His voice echoes across the beach and Merikh watches as everyone in his village's knees hit the sand. Alkaios pulls him down as well.

"There you go! Down you go to your rightful place," he says and Merikh can hear the sneer in his voice.

"Speaking of rightful places, I've just returned from war, doing my duty as a son of Labaton. Imagine my shock to learn that there is a son of Labaton here, in this waterlogged village, shirking his," he says, his voice feigning disappointment.

Merikh sees the boots of more soldiers step onto the sand and can see more boats landing on the beach. He also sees the way his stepbrother's fist clenches at the mention of a son of Labaton being in their village.

"I'm looking for a bastard. If you produce him, you'll be rewarded. Try to shelter him, and well,"

Soon heat is felt across the beach and Merikh jerks up his head in time to see several of the docked boats being set alight.

"I have plenty of fire and you only have so many boats," he calls out over the cries of distress starting to claw their way out of the villagers.

Merikh starts to get up but this time Spiro keeps him down.

"Don't move. It will pass," he says, quieter than Merikh has ever heard him.

"Oh now, this. This is a nice boat. Well nice, as far as the driftwood these common people love so much is concerned. It's all shit, but this might be a bit more expensive shit,"

Merikh remains on his knees but looks up in time to see the Diomedes walk over to the ship the fishermen had all collaborated to build so that they could fish in deeper waters.

Diomedes runs a hand over the hull and whistles.

"Is this mahogany?" he asks and when no one answers he turns around.

Merikh's breath catches in his throat.

They look very much alike. Too much alike.

Merikh's hair is a darker blonde, his jaw is wider, and Merikh has been told that he has his mother's eyes, apart from the color, but this boy in front of him looks like a distorted version of Merikh's own reflection.

And he's setting the boat on fire.

"That was a genuine question you know," Diomedes sighs. "It's not like I know something about woodworking,"

He grins at them all, and Merikh feels sick at just how happy this boy looks with flames dancing across his eyes.

"I do know that if burning boats doesn't work, I'll have to switch to people," he coos and that's enough to cause someone to try and run.

The rustle of skirts and the whiz of an arrow is all it takes.

Merikh watches as Ligeia, a girl he's grown up with, falls.

The arrow sticks out of her back like the stem of an evil flower about to bloom.

"Nice shot! Whoever made that gets forty silver from me!" Diomedes calls out gleefully to his troops, and their cheers and laughter ring in his head.

He stands up, breaking free from his brother's hold.

"Let them go! It's me! If you're looking for a bastard, then you're looking for me!"

Diomedes turns to him with eyes so wild, Merikh finds himself taking a step back.

"Merikh what are you doing," Spiro whispers harshly, trying to pull him back down, but it's too late.

The brother he never knew and never wanted stands before him, the grin on his face anything but kind.

"Dear brother," he says and reaches out a hand. He hesitates slightly before deciding to place it on Merikh's head, gripping tightly.

"I can see your blood. It's our fathers. It's mine," he hisses, his grip on Merikh's hair so tight that he feels as though his scalp is on fire.

He wants to strike this nightmare but he can hear the cries of his village and he can also see flames reflected in their tears.

So he balls his fists, closes his eyes, and waits for death.

"What is your name?" Diomedes asks, and Merikh resits the urge to spit in his face.

He keeps his eyes closed but answers.

"I am Merikh. And I am no brother of yours. You can keep your blood, for I don't claim it and never will."

"Merikh, Merikh, you're a Labaton. This blood has a price, dear brother! Now," Diomedes pulls him by the hair and forces him to look at his village.

"Look at your people my dear bastard brother. Look upon this village and try to commit it to memory. I don't think you'll see it again."

A punch to the gut brings Merikh to the ground, and while the air leaves his lungs, the sight of his village fills his eyes.

People are crying. For him. For his family. And he realizes how fortunate it is that he is not an only child and that his mother cannot hear.

She won't be alone, and she won't have heard the cries coming from the beach.

He feels his hands being bound and a kick makes his vision spotty.

He's being moved, further and further away from his brothers and the man he's called father for years.

When the saltwater causes a cut above his brow to sting, he knows it will be a long time before he can see the shore of his village, or feel the embrace of his mother.

He's thrown on the deck like a fresh catch and Diomedes squats to look at him.

"I hope you are a better fighter than this Merikh. It would be nice to have a brother just like me. Do you understand Merikh? You're a bastard, can you still be like me?"

Diomedes' grin is wide and Merikh feels nauseous at how genuine the other boy's happiness sounds. He winces as he's hugged by this monster that calls him brother.

"You're a soldier now," Diomedes says into his ear. "You need to be strong and live. If you fall in battle I'll burn this place to the ground and drive everyone into the sea."

Merikh wants to curse, or scream, or anything, but all he can do is lean against the boat railing and try to commit every grain of sand to memory.

I will survive, and come home, and kill you.

It takes root in his heart, while Diomedes' threats take root in his mind.

I will survive, and come home, and kill you.

The boat traveled far until it had made his life before it a memory. When it finally docked, only Merikh was taken off of it and placed immediately into a regiment.

Diomedes' parting words for him were shouted as the boat departed, leaving him to a new life.

"I mean it Merikh! I hate you, dear brother, so you need to live!"

And Merikh's reply was silent.

I will survive, and come home, and kill you.